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So what do you want to say or prove?

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Very nice look out from the mountain over the city. We have something similar here in Montreal Canada but your place looks nicer.

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Where next Sam? A walk in Pyongyang?

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My name is Ramin, and I was born in a time of glittering luxury and impending change, in the city of Shiraz, during the reign of the Shah. I was only a child when I first stepped into one of his palaces. The scent of polished marble, the twinkling chandeliers, and the delicate hum of classical Persian music-these were the sounds and smells of my youth. It was a life of service, yes, but not in the way one might imagine from a distance. There was a certain pride in it, a feeling of being part of something greater, even if I was never invited to the grandest tables. I remember serving in the royal palaces in Tehran and Shiraz, where the elites gathered, sipping wine and discussing politics in the grand salons. There were always foreign dignitaries, Western businessmen, and high-ranking officials. In those days, I was a young man, eager to serve but also curious. Even though I was a servant, I was surrounded by a world of culture, beauty, and history-an old, aristocratic world that seemed to hold Iran's future in its hands. But that world came crashing down. In 1979, the revolution arrived. The Shah was gone, and the palaces were emptied of their luxurious trappings, replaced by the rhetoric of change. There was fear, uncertainty, and loss, but there was also hope. The country was charting a new course. But the course was not an easy one. For years, I struggled to find my place in this new Iran. After the revolution, I returned to my family's home in the Fars Province. The winds of change were blowing, and though I had seen luxury and power up close, I knew my heart was rooted in something more humble-something ancient and enduring: the land. Fars, with its rich history of Persian kings, poets, and artists, also carries with it the soil that has nourished generations. One of the most enduring symbols of this region is its fig orchards. The Estahban Rainfed Fig Orchards are a testament to a long tradition of farming that predates the Shah and the revolution, and in many ways, they are untouched by both. I started small-working the land, learning about figs, and gaining the trust of the local farmers. Over the years, as the country went through its upheavals, I built my own orchard. And though it’s a modest life compared to the wealth I once witnessed in the palaces, it feels true to who I am. Figs, after all, are more than just fruit-they are symbols of resilience, patience, and beauty. Today, I sit under the shade of my fig trees, sipping a cup of strong Persian tea, and looking out at the rolling hills that stretch toward the horizon. Life is simple, but it’s also rich in its own way. The orchards I tend have flourished under the same rainfed system that has sustained farmers here for centuries. And, if you visit, you’ll see figs ripening in the heat of the summer sun, their delicate sweetness carried on the warm breeze. The world is changing around me, yes, but the earth remains constant. In a world that has seen its fair share of turmoil and transformation-both politically and socially-I find peace in the continuity of the land. The figs are part of something timeless. The rains still come, and the trees still bear fruit. Life in Iran today, from my perspective, is a mixture of challenges and quiet triumphs. Yes, the country faces its difficulties. Sanctions, economic pressures, and political tensions have all shaped the way we live. But amidst the struggles, the spirit of Iran endures. There is a resilience in the people that can be felt in every corner of the country-from the bustling streets of Tehran to the quiet hills of Fars. The young people in Tehran are as determined as ever, dreaming of a better future, while the farmers of the provinces continue to work the land, preserving ancient methods and traditions that have been passed down through the centuries. There is a spirit of innovation alongside a deep respect for tradition. It is a place where the past is never truly gone, but neither is it locked away. I see my country from a sunny perspective because I’ve witnessed both the elegance of the past and the determination of the present. And in that balance, I see a future worth striving for. In the orchards, life moves slowly, almost meditatively. I take pride in every fig I harvest, knowing they are nurtured by the same land that has given life to poets, kings, and ordinary people for thousands of years. The figs, plump and sweet, are a testament to the enduring spirit of Iran-a spirit that, despite the many changes in history, has never truly wavered. And though I may not serve in the palaces of the Shah anymore, I serve a more important master: the earth beneath my feet. The soil, the rain, and the sun are my companions now, and together, we continue the legacy of Iran's agricultural heritage. In my orchard, life is peaceful. There is a joy in seeing the seasons change, in watching the fruit ripen, in knowing that what I do today will feed a family tomorrow. Life in Iran is still beautiful, still rich in culture, and still full of hope. We may not have the luxury of the palaces, but we have something much more enduring: the land, the figs, and the will to keep moving forward, no matter what. Yes, life in Iran is hard, but it is also full of beauty. And for those of us who are connected to the land, it is a life worth living. One brotherhood of man! Blessings to all.

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